


To Kill You With

by van_helsa124



Series: Little Red [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Little Red, No Romance, Other, Serial Killer Stiles Stilinski, Sociopath Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, kind of dexter au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-15 20:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16071032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/van_helsa124/pseuds/van_helsa124
Summary: People remember. That was the lesson Stiles had to learn the day he’d been cleared of charges and sent on his merry way. The weird looks, the comments, his friends trying to kill him, all of those things Stiles could live with... all those things except maybe his father setting a mountain ash circle round his own house. That one was a step too far.





	1. Running Away for Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been two years, but I've had this sitting in my documents for almost as long and I figured it wouldn't hurt to share it. It might take a while to come to completion, but at least the beginning's out there now so I have to work on it rather than letting it fester in a word document.

People remember. That was the lesson Stiles had to learn the day he’d been cleared of charges and sent on his merry way. The people of beacon hills just couldn’t seem to forget the fact that he’d been accused of multiple accounts of murder. Sure, they were right to fear him, but that didn’t make their staring any easier. People would stop and stare, sometimes crossing the street so they wouldn’t have to approach him, and at one point a man even came up and demanded to know why he’d killed his daughter.  
The pack hadn’t accepted him back either. Even with Scott’s testimony that he was innocent, Stiles had been attacked the moment he stepped into the loft. Between them, Jackson and Derek had almost managed to finish him. If it hadn’t been for his new speed, Stiles would have been buried right alongside his victims.

The weird looks, the comments, his friends trying to kill him… all of those things Stiles could live with though. All those things… well, maybe except his father setting a mountain ash circle round his own house. That was a step too far. The day he’d arrived home to find that, was the day Stiles had packed up the jeep and hit the road, not even stopping when Scott practically rang his phone off the hook.

(2 Years Later)

Stiles sat at a bar in some small town. It was further north than he usually wandered, but he didn’t really care. It wasn’t like anyone was looking for him anymore. After being cleared of being a serial killer, the police had lost interest in him almost completely. They were more focused on catching ‘Little Red’- the copycat that had gotten Stiles released from prison and was continuing to kill in his name. Stiles guessed that he should probably have been mad or at least slightly irritated about someone taking over his alias, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care. If they wanted to get caught and charged for all of his crimes than they could have it, he wasn’t going to stop them. Stiles wasn’t one of those serial killers that took pride in their work.  
Since he’d left Beacon Bills, it had become apparent that becoming a werewolf had fixed that little something in his brain that told him he needed to kill. Apparently lycanthropy cured addiction, who knew? Sure he still killed, but it was more at his own pace now- a hobby, rather than an dependence.  
In the beginning it had been hard. As a known, werewolf, serial killer, Stiles had had to deal with hunters on his trail 24/7. He’d lost them when he took a quick trip across the Canadian border for a few months, the American and Canadian hunter families didn’t like each other much, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still vigilant. Now, Stiles always made sure to survey a town for at least a week before making a kill. He planned ahead.

The bar he was currently sat in was one he’d frequented for a month now. It was located in a small town, a little out of the way of nowhere, and too far off the map for any real news to reach them via anything other than cable. He’d already taken one victim and the local law enforcement was none the wiser. It was common for young people to up and leave town. Nobody was suspicious… yet.  
The one last thing that had changed after Stiles’s unexpected exit from Beacon Hills was his type. After killing Lydia he could barely even look at another redhead. Killing her had been like the putting down the final piece of an elaborate puzzle. That part of his life was over now and he wasn’t going back to that.  
Instead, he chose to take a different path… well chose was probably too strong a term. It had happened one evening after talking to a young woman in Texas. At some point during the night, Stiles wasn’t sure how they got onto the subject, she’d mentioned that someone had attacked her when she was younger… and bada-bing, bada-boom the girl had ended up in the back of Stiles’s jeep.  
His new liking for young individuals who’d been through childhood trauma was inconvenient to say the least. Stiles had never been a picky guy. Before, anyone with red hair and brown eyes could have been a target. But now he actually had to do research before he killed and that took time meaning that after his week of scoping out a town, he had at least another week of research before he could get his hands dirty. If he did them both at the same time it would have made him seem too suspicious.  
Thankfully there were enough survivors of childhood trauma in the town he was in to make narrowing down the selection hard. Stiles rarely took more than two or three victims from a town now to avoid suspicion and he’d found that choosing his targets was starting to become almost as fun as actually ending them. The guy- Nick- at the other end of the bar was his lucky second victim of that particular town.  
Nick had been abused as a child- something about an uncle with a temper. He wasn’t quite as tall as Stiles but Nick had wider shoulders and arms at least twice as thick. Nick’s sheer bulk had made him a local heart-throb and, if Stiles hadn’t been a werewolf, the guy probably would have been a challenge to overpower.  
Stiles had grown to like challenges on the road though, so when Nick got up to leave, so did he. 

It was a cold night out. Snow was falling softly, making a thick white carpet that cracked and crunched as they made their way across the parking lot. The icy white downpour affected Nick more than it did Stiles. The guy was already at his car before he even noticed that he’d been followed. When his target turned, Stiles checked that no one was watching and pounced, using his strength to get an arm around his neck and cut off the air supply. It didn’t take long, maybe a minute or two for the fight to leave his victim’s limbs. The more they struggled, the quicker it happened.  
Stiles took a moment to collect himself before dragging Nick’s unconscious form towards his jeep. He’d parked it close on purpose, to minimise risk of exposure. If he’d been seen, the fun would have been over before it had even begun, and Stiles had to intention of letting this one slip through his fingers.  
Someone had interrupted back in Ohio and needless to say it had been a tense couple of weeks for Stiles. Apparently, locals in small towns didn’t approve of their one and only priest mysteriously going missing…

Getting rid of is victims after the job was done was a part that he was still getting used to, though. Back in Beacon Hills, he’d had the old crematorium on the out skirts of town, but now he had to improvise. The warmth from the fire-pit before him was enough to chase away the cold of the night but not enough to chase away the cold in his bones. Winter was setting in fast and if he stayed where he was too long he would no doubt end up snowed in before long.  
Stiles watched the flames burn and wondered if he would ever be able to settle down as he had before. It was exhausting just thinking of setting up another identity and making a new mask, but he figured that he wouldn’t be able to stay on the run forever. It was getting boring and he was taking too many risks to keep himself amused.

Somewhere behind him, a branch snapped. 

Now, branches snapping were not entirely uncommon in a forest, but this branch had been too thick to have been broken by something like a deer. Stiles focused his senses away from the fire he’d been so caught up in and to the trees around him- if there was someone sneaking up on him he wanted to get their positioning before he turned around.  
There was a calm, steady heartbeat not a few metres behind him. How the guy had gotten so close without making a sound, Stiles didn’t know, but he figured the direction of the wind played a huge part.  
“Good to see you’re still doing what you’re best at,” an eerily familiar voice said, “you’d be boring otherwise.”  
Stiles hadn’t heard that voice in two years. The last time he’d heard it had been in Derek’s loft, but there was no mistaking the smarmy tone.  
“Why if it isn’t creeper-Peter,” he said, finally tuning around, “I would like to say it’s nice to see you, but you’d be able to tell that I was lying.”  
Peter rolled his eyes, “I see you haven’t changed in other areas.”  
“You expected me to?” Stiles countered, he held no love for peter but he had to admit he’d missed their occasional back-and-forth sessions.  
Peter pushed himself off of the tree he’s been leaning against and took a few steps forward toward the fire, putting his hands out as if to warm himself even though he was wearing thick gloves.  
“Not really.” He admitted.  
When Peter slipped into silence, content to watch the flames burn as Stiles had been a moment before, Stiles remained quiet too. He remembered all too well that if peter didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t. Stiles wasn’t sure if as much had changed about Peter as it had with himself, but he was determined to find out.

In truth, the elder werewolf hadn’t changed much either. Well… on the outside anyway. Stiles watched him with a mixture of curiosity and distain for a moment before humming tunelessly and shoving his hands in his pockets. Peter still looked as youthful as ever, even with a few streaks of grey at his temples, but in Peter’s eyes he could see that something had changed. If Stiles hadn’t known better, Stiles would have said the guy looked colder than he had before.  
Sure, Peter had always been a sociopath and he was pretty cold most of the time, but looking into the flames that licked off Nick’s charred remains Peter looked like a different man. This man looked as sly as a fox, but cunning as the wolf he was and lethal as a switchblade. _A predator_ , Stiles thought suddenly, and he realised that he wasn’t seeing a different Peter, he was seeing a different _side _to him.  
Ever since he’d known him, Stiles had always seen a fully- or at least partially- masked Peter. That was the one he’d met in the parking lot, that was the one he’d spent time with when they were with the pack, and that was the one that had convinced Derek to give him the bite. To see him without a mask was more than a little jarring. He fought the urge to say just that.__

After what seemed like forever, the flames eventually began to die down and Stiles shovelled dirt into the pit to cover the bones. Peter lingered off to the right, watching with a rampant curiosity that he found a little disconcerting.  
“Is that how you disposed of them before?” Peter eventually asked though, breaking the almost comfortable silence they had established.  
Stiles shoved in the last of the dirt and straightened his back. “I used the old crematorium.” He admitted with a shrug. “It was far enough out of the way for me to do my thing.”  
Surprising the elder werewolf looked a little shocked. “Interesting… I wonder how long it took you to get that place back into working order- it must have taken months. Where did a precious young teen, as you were, find the time to restore such a building?”  
“Scott spent a lot of time with Allison nearer the end. I did what I could when he wasn’t around, which was like, always.” Stiles paused for a moment, “How is Scott?”  
Peter smiled his classic evil smile. “That I think will be a conversation for the road.”  
“And where exactly are we going?”  
“Home.”


	2. A Not-So-Warm Welcome

It had been two years since Stiles had left Beacon Hills and he was unprepared for how much it had changed in that time. Peter had briefed him on the things he’d missed while he was gone, but it was nothing to being back in person. Even driving through the outskirts, Stiles could see the atmosphere of the town had shifted dramatically. What should have been a busy Friday night was nowhere near that, the few people that dared step out onto the streets were either up to no good, skittish, or both. A number of the shops that had once been dotted along the high-street were closed up and boarded.  
“Apparently serial killers aren’t good for business.” Peter remarked, noticing where he’d been looking.  
Stiles snorted, “If I knew it had gotten this bad I would have come back.”  
“No you wouldn’t.” the elder werewolf huffed in response.  
And he was right, Stiles thought sourly as they passed another closed down store. Stiles loved Beacon Hills, it had been his old hunting ground, but at the same time there were too many dangers there for him to have returned. To his knowledge the Argents were still based there and the pack would no doubt have run him off if he’d come anywhere close. The only reason that they were letting him back into the area was that his father had finally succumbed to the heart attack Stiles had been warning him about for years, and he hadn’t bothered to take Stiles’s name off the will.  
“I’ll give you some time to get re-acquainted with the neighbourhood.” Peter said when they pulled up in front of his old home.  
It was more run down than he remembered and the front lawn had been left to grow over. Along the side of the house, beneath a boarded up window, the words ‘killer’ and ‘nutjob’ were scrawled in bright red graffiti.  
Getting out of the car, Stiles was hit with a wave of nausea. He almost doubled over but managed to stay upright. A wave of scents that could only be described as hostile washed over him. The simple smells that had once been comforting to him, the smells of Beacon Hills, now seemed strange and unwelcoming. He was an _omega_ , one that had been almost ran out of the territory, he wasn’t welcome and every one of his instincts were screaming at him to get back in the car and driving as far away as he could.  
Gritting his teeth, he turned and nodded to peter, who was still collecting his things from the jeep, before heading up the front steps to the porch. The spare key was where it had always been and sliding it into the lock was a strangely familiar process. The door swung open and he was bombarded by the faded, warped scents of his childhood. The vase of fresh flowers his dad always kept on the side next to the door was empty and the water stagnant, the larger pieces furniture were covered in dust sheets, and a number of his father’s belongings had been boxed up and stacked to one side. Scott’s scent drifted off of the cardboard crates, but it was different than he remembered, stronger.  
Looping the key through his set, Stiles set about exploring the house that had changed so much in two years. The kitchen was the same, but his own room had been turned into a modern art instillation. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with newspaper cuttings that dated back years. Going round the room he recognised those from before he’d been caught and cuttings from towns where he’d visited and even one from his trip to Canada. The fact that his father had tracked him wasn’t surprising to Stiles, but it was the fact that his father had been _able_ to do so that confused him. He’d always been so careful to choose the next location randomly- and he knew for a fact that a few of his victims had never been reported missing- so how anyone had managed to keep tabs on him was a mystery.  
That night he dumped his bag in the spare room, where neither his father’s nor anyone else’s scent lingered strongly, and lay down on the stagnant, dust covered sheets. It was really strange to be home.  
The next morning Stiles was awoken by a pounding on the door. Groaning from the worst night’s sleep he’d had in ages, he slid out of bed and pulled on his jeans and a shirt that didn’t smell too bad. He trudged down stairs and got to the door just as the person chose to pound on it again.  
“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” he called, but almost stopped dead when he recognised the scent coming from outside.

How Scott had become an Alpha, Stiles didn’t really want to know, but every muscle in Stiles’s body was telling him to turn around and bolt. With a sigh, Stiles creaked the door open and he found himself face to face with someone he’d once considered a friend.  
Scott had matured in the last two years, his face had lost all of the softness it once had and his arms stretched the sleeves of his t-shirt. The upper part of his left arm was encircled by a tattoo and every part of his stance screamed _alpha_ even if his expression didn’t.  
Scott looked pained. “So it’s true, Peter found you?” he asked, “We didn’t expect you to come back.”  
“Well here I am Scotty, now is there something you want?” Stiles asked in return, eyeing the identical strangers behind his former friend.  
Peter had told him some of what had transpired while he was away- an alpha pack invading, a dark druid, a nogitusune- but he’d left out the two burly wolves that stood glaring at him. They watched him with such intensity that Stiles couldn’t help but notice the cold glint they had to their eyes. They were killers and he knew they could see that in him too.  
Scott’s pained expression didn’t change. “I just came to let you know that you can stay as long as you need. The pack won’t bother you.”  
Stiles blinked at him in the early morning sun before glancing at the other two. “Yeah, I’ll have to take your word for that, huh? Who are your new friends, did Peter not tell me you’d hired personal security?”  
“I’m Ethan,” the one on the left said, “and this is Aiden. We’re here to make sure you don’t kill anyone. If you do, we’ll make sure you don’t make it to the county line.”  
Really, they were going to take that approach? Stiles snorted at the threat but still eyed them, allowing sarcasm to seep into his voice. “Right yes, because I’m that blood-thirsty. Gold star to you.” He turned to Scott, “Thanks for the warm welcome but, believe it or not, but my name isn’t Peter. You can trust me not to stab you in the back.”  
Admittedly that was something that peter would say, but he wasn’t lying and it didn’t matter all that much. The outraged expressions on the twin’s faces made up for the hurt, puppy-dog look that was clearly one of the things Scott hadn’t grown out of. Stiles shut the door in their faces and turned his back to it.  
Now that he’d been told by a local alpha that he could stay, he was feeling much more secure. He didn’t feel quite as jumpy as he had since he’d first crossed the town boundary and he had the whole day to get things done.

Not wanting to waste any more time than necessary, Stiles got dressed and went about sorting his father’s legal affairs. Melissa had already sorted most of it, but his name was still on the will for the house and its contents, so Stiles had to sign numerous pieces of paperwork before he was released from the stuffy office. The lady he’d been dealing with for the process never met his eyes once. She seemed scared out of her mind and he couldn’t blame her. Once upon a time, he would have found her tantalising. She had fiery auburn hair, amber eyes, and skin so pale that her freckles stood out in almost stark contrast. Back in his little red days he wouldn’t have hesitated to follow her home, but now when he looked at her she held no interest for him. She wasn’t his type anymore.  
Finally making it out of the office with a new set of keys and a collection of very official looking documents, Stiles set off for the grocery store next. It was getting to be later in the day and he didn’t really feel like ordering take out. He browsed the isles of the store, remembering where things were and what local brands were the best to buy. It seemed like an eternity since he’d last been in there shopping for his father and in some ways it had been. Only a few people seemed to recognise him now, and many of those flashed him sad looks.  
The lady in the legal office had been something of a red herring, Stiles realised. The presence of the copycat had indeed cleared him of suspicion, or at least most of it. The handful of people who took the time to look his way either looked away quickly or watched him with sympathy now. But they hadn’t forgotten, even if they had forgiven him for being arrested. It seemed that whoever had been killing in his place hadn’t been as discrete as Stiles had. The residents of Beacon Hills lived in fear of the next person going missing and Stiles was just another potential target.  
He returned back to his father’s- now his own- house and wasn’t at all surprised to find a visitor waiting for him on the porch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I am still writing this. As stiles settles back in things will start speeding up again, how ever many chapters this squeal has is up to you guys I guess... How long this fic will last will most likely depend on how strongly people feel about it.


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